


Enemy Saviour

by Fire_Bear



Series: Klance Month 2019 [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Lance (Voltron), Angst, Battle, Day 2, Fights, First Meetings, Galra Keith (Voltron), Klance Month 2019, M/M, Minor Character Death, Planet Destruction, Sort of canon divergence, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 15:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17900654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: Lance has looked up to his king as the Red Paladin for years, hoping he will be able to follow in his footsteps. When Zarkon returns from the dead to avenge Daibazaal, however, it doesn't look like that will be an option...





	Enemy Saviour

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of set around the time of Allura's memory of Alfor putting her to sleep.
> 
> I might continue this, since I have vague ideas for what could happen next. If I do, I'll change the title - I just couldn't think of anything better.

Lance stared in horror at the great chasm at his feet. He staggered a little as the ground shook beneath him, threatening to pitch him into nothingness. It was just luck and determination that he hadn’t fallen down it already.

Raising his gaze, he could see his family's terrified gazes. Thankfully, Marco had caught his daughter when Lance had thrown her out of the way. Lance smiled in his relief, despite being separated from his entire family. Several feet of nothingness were between him and his family - and their only escape from the carnage taking place on Altea.

Above them, Galra fighter ships zipped by, firing at already abandoned homes. A building exploded somewhere nearby. Troops of Galra sentries and soldiers marched across the fields of juniberries. Smoke hovered over the major cities, spreading as the planet broke apart. Lance could smell burning and blood and the sharp smell of laser blasts. A battleship floated overhead, slowly moving through the atmosphere with an elongated roar. People screamed from afar. Shouts surrounded Lance, Alteans calling for friends and family, Galra ordering soldiers around. A woman rushed by, a young boy in tow, their clothes billowing behind them. There was blood on the kid’s yalmor toy.

“Jump!” Marco yelled over everything. “Lance, jump! We’ll catch you!”

Looking down, Lance saw only darkness. If he fell, would he fall to the other side of the planet? He knew that the situation was worse on that side. Would he survive? When he looked up again, movement caught his attention. His eyes widened when he realised that he was looking at a platoon of Galra sentries that were advancing on the transport.

“Go!” he shouted to his family, pointing to draw their attention to the imminent danger. “Get on the ship! _Go_!”

“No, Lance!” Veronica called back, clearly frowning at him. “We can’t leave you here!”

“I’ll get on another one!” Lance assured them, promised them. “I’ll find you!”

“Allance…!” his mother called, expression pained. Lance was sure she was holding back tears.

“I promise!” To empathise that, Lance made a sweeping gesture with his hand, as if he was wielding a giant sword. It was his own personal way to show how serious he was to his niece and nephew. That was because, ever since he was a child, Lance had wanted to one day succeed King Alfor as the Red Paladin. The Paladins were his heroes and he’d hoped that they would choose someone to begin training soon. He often spoke of how he would make his family proud by following in Alfor’s footsteps, fighting off evil with a broadsword. With Zarkon’s ships overhead, however, Lance didn’t think that would ever happen now.

Thankfully, Lance’s family nodded. Slowly, they began to back away. Lance grimaced and glanced at the sentries. They were steadily getting closer. When he looked back at his family, they were also looking at him. With pained smiles, they waved at him, turned away from him, lengthened their strides. Finally, they were running, heading straight for the waiting transport.

Lance already missed his mother’s hugs.

With a deep breath, Lance forced himself to turn around. There was another planet-wide disaster transport close by, though he would have to run through their little town to get to it. Most of it consisted of abandoned buildings, but fighter pilots had destroyed the central town hall and Lance would have to clamber over the rubble before he’d have a clear path back to the fields of juniberries. Not only that, but if there had been a ground patrol on the other side of that chasm, then there was every likelihood that there would be some on the side Lance was on. And Lance didn’t carry a weapon; Alteans believed in diplomacy before battle and they had never needed to do something like that.

He met no-one on his journey from his family to the mess that had been his favourite place to flirt with local guys and girls alike. Large rocks and shards of glass were strewn down the street, leading Lance like a trail of lightbees would lead someone to their intended on their wedding day. Swallowing against the rising bile, Lance stooped down and picked up a heavy rock. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to use it.

As nimble on his feet as he was, Lance leapt onto the pile of rubble. He almost danced across it as he darted to and fro, placing his feet as carefully as possible so as not to slip and fall. Every so often, ships flew overhead: Lance wondered if they could see him as he climbed ever upwards. Sometimes he even heard the clanking footsteps of the sentries passing him by, close enough that he stopped moving, clinging to the rocks. But he didn’t see any Galra until he slid down the other side of the pile and into what had been the town’s inner garden, a place for people to meet or gather or merely see some pretty juniberries.

The place was a mess. Flowerbeds had shattered on the impact of falling rock. Flowers were strewn across the winding paths. The floating water features were on the ground, slowly flooding the town. Laser blasts marked walls. A winding tree, its two trunks growing around the flowerbeds and birdhouses and each other, was on fire, the flames licking the corner of a building, threatening to catch on the shutters.

Just as he was briefly mourning the garden’s loss, a sentry rounded the corner. Lance’s eyes widened as it marched past him: the pile of rubble hid Lance from the sentry’s sensors, though he could see it from where he stood. Then he was behind it with only a rock for a weapon. And the sentry had a gun. Breathing heavily, Lance tightened his grip on the rock with both hands and, with a yell, he leapt out and smashed the rock into the sentry’s head, crushing it with one blow. The sentry dropped, its blaster skittering from its grasp. Lance dropped the rock on top of it and grabbed the blaster.

“Psst!” The voice startled Lance and he quickly raised his blaster, pointing it towards where he thought he’d heard it. He relaxed when he saw a fellow Altean, their light brown hair tied back at the nape of their neck. Beside them were several other Alteans, young and old, parents and children, brothers and sisters, friends and family. There were twelve of them in all, huddled in the entrance to what had once been a shop which dealt in clothing, usually copying the royals’ latest trends. All of the older ones were holding farming tools or short blades or outdated blasters, clearly prepared for a fight. Of the youngest, Lance recognised the little boy who had darted past with his mother: he knew them both, he realised, since they lived just down the road from him and his family. The father wasn’t to be seen.

He jogged over to them, glancing to and fro to make sure there weren’t any Galra around. “What are you doing?” he whispered to them once he’d gotten closer to them.

“There are Galra soldiers between here and the edge of town,” one of the group said. The mother dragged her son closer; she was shaking from fear.

“We're trapped,” said another. Lance recognised him as Tarol, the man who usually organised their town-wide parties. “And the planet is disintegrating from under us. Whatever these Galra have done…” That last part came out as a snarl.

Taking in the way they huddled against each other, Lance decided that he needed to give them hope. “Zarkon is the one doing this,” he reminded them. “Maybe some of the Galra would help us if we appealed to their sense of empathy. Besides,” he added, putting his hands on his hips, clumsy with the foreign blaster, “there’s still Voltron. The Paladins will come to save us-”

“Look!” cried the first Altean Lance had spotted. They jabbed their finger into the sky, pointing behind Lance and over the top of the ruined hall. “The Lions!”

Lance spun around. Usually, the hall was too tall to see beyond the town. Now, though, they could see the capital in the distance, the Castle towering above, and the colourful streaks that indicated that the Lions were in flight. Red, green, blue, green. Lance’s eyes followed the red streak, a pang of yearning striking him. That was what he had always wanted to do - to fly the Red Lion, to make King Alfor proud and to keep the king from needing to leave his family behind while he was on dangerous missions. Now, though, he would settle for being saved. Except…

“Why are they going away?” asked a girl. She was only a little older than the boy and she sounded confused and hurt.

“I… I don’t know, my child,” said the oldest Altean there, the frown on her face deepening.

“They… They left.” The first Altean turned to them. “We're doomed.”

The little boy finally spoke, peeking up at the woman with him. “Are we going to die, mother?”

Lance frowned. He took one final look at the sky: the Lions disappeared through the cloud of smoke and the planet’s atmosphere, leaving them all to the mercy of the Galra. Anger coursed through him, outraged on behalf of the people they had left behind. Looking down at the boy, cuddled in his mother's arms as she sobbed into his hair, Lance made a decision. If King Alfor was going to abandon them, then Lance would be _better_ than King Alfor.

“No,” he said, firmly. “We’re not going to die.”

Laughing, the first Altean shook their head. “There's nothing we can do against _that_.” They gestured at the battleship that hung, still and menacing, above them.

“Yes, there is,” Lance protested. “Diplomacy has failed, so it's time for battle.”

“Are you suggesting we fight the Galra when Voltron would not?” asked a young woman who was holding a small axe.

“Voltron was without his head,” Lance retorted, despite knowing that King Alfor could have taken over. “And we don't need to fight all of them. We just need to get to a ship - we could even take a Galra ship.”

Everyone glanced at each other. Finally, Tarol said, “You’re right. We cannot just wait here to be killed.”

“I suppose there's no better option,” commented the first Altean. He eyed Lance for a moment before bowing. “My name is Salarn. I come from over the hill.” Jerking his thumb in a general direction, he let that do the speaking for him: he was one of the Altean alchemists who built their ships and manipulated the Balmeran crystals.

“My name is Allance. But just call me Lance.” He bowed in reply. Once he’d straightened, he smiled at Salarn, grateful that he wasn't going to antagonise the situation. Salarn returned the smile, his yellow marks scrunching up in a rather cute way; he looked much better when he looked happy, Lance thought.

Behind him, came a noise that sounded like a ship taking off. It jolted Lance from his thoughts and had him spinning around to find out what was happening. His eyebrows furrowed as he saw the Castle begin to take off. Didn’t King Alfor need to be there in order to fly it? If he was there, how had the Red Lion flown away? But Lance didn't have the time to ponder on that, so he spun back to the group of Alteans.

“We should go now, while they're distracted with the Castle,” Lance said. He glanced over their weapons. “Do you know how to use those blasters?” he asked Salarn and a woman who was a little older than the one with the axe.

“Of course,” said the woman, hefting the blaster to her shoulder. “I am a markswoman and a champion in the Tournament.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Lance, suddenly recognising her white-blonde hair and her red marks. “You’re Tarra!”

“Yes,” she confirmed, bowing to him.

Once he’d returned the bow, he looked between her and Salarn. “Well, we should go to the front. I think it will be better than engaging in close-range combat.”

Both of them nodded and, when he turned to move through the garden, they fell into place, flanking him. He was sure none of them had fought like this before, but Lance felt like the three of them had been doing this for all of their lives. It made him smile, despite everything. Maybe they would have been Paladins together.

His good mood evaporated, however, as a platoon of Galra marched into the garden from the road they had been moving towards. All of the Alteans froze, staring in growing horror as their way was blocked by row upon row of sentries. There were even some Galra soldiers who stepped into the garden and onto the last of the juniberries, the last life on Altea. He sneered at the group, clearly uncaring of what he was doing. That was the last straw for Lance: he darted forward a few steps, aimed for the soldier's leg and fired. He watched him topple with a cry.

“Now!” Lance shouted, swinging the blaster around to take aim at the sentries.

Blaster fire rang out. Sentries fell. Lance ducked a shot that had come his way. He pushed forward, hitting target after target. Soldiers shouted orders at the sentries. Ships passed overhead, ignored by Lance. The number of sentries were quickly decreased, less than half of them still shooting at them. Galra soldiers hung back, letting their robots do all the work, and Lance knew they could overpower them.

“Come on!” he exclaimed, turning just enough to look at his companions. “We can do this!”

Then one of the ships started shooting. Lance’s eyes widened as they strafed through the crowd. The girl with the axe was hit and went down while Tarol was hit in the arm, making him stumble and drop the short sword he held. Before Lance could do anything, he heard the distinctive sound of a ship flying low over the town once again.

“Get down!” Salarn ordered the group, and the Alteans ducked.

Since he was a little apart from the group, Lance stayed standing, waiting for the ship, his blaster aimed upwards. Finally, it came into view and Lance fired at the Galra ship before it could fire at them. Something exploded as his shots hit it and the ship spiralled away, out of control, until it smashed into some buildings at the other end of the town, exploding at the crash site. Lance had barely celebrated his success when he felt something hit him in the side.

Crying out, Lance stumbled a few steps, though he kept a firm grip on his blaster. Breathing harsh and shallow, Lance placed a hand on his wound, feeling the sticky blood and the sharp, throbbing pain. Suddenly, he realised how much danger he was in. Not only that, but he’d promised his family that he would survive. He could not, _would not_ , be a liar.

So, with a snarl, Lance raised his blaster again, blood smearing on the metal as he took aim at the sentries again. With his next few shots, he got rid of five sentries, halving their already dwindling numbers. Other blaster fire joined his and he glanced over to find Salarn and Tarra firing as well, also standing a little apart from the rest of the group. Soon, all the sentries but two were down. Lance could almost taste their victory.

Then, overhead, came the sound of a low-flying ship. It came from behind them and he spun, eyes wide, searching for it. He didn’t have to look far - it was almost on top of them. Before he could so much as lift the blaster a little higher, the fighter began firing into the crowd of Alteans. One shot hit the person who had been trying to help the girl with the axe. Another hit Tarol again, killing him instantly. Another blast hit close to Salarn and Tarra. Almost in slow motion, a final shot came for him…

Except it's trajectory was off. Instead of hitting Lance, the blast drove into the ground just in front of him. At the last tick, Lance tried to turn from it, to dodge it, but it was no use. The ensuing explosion sent him flying through the air, the blaster slipped from his grasp. He landed on the path, his hands outstretched to break his fall. It only succeeded in snapping his left wrist as he tumbled over and over. Gasping with pain, he wasn't prepared for the back of his head to slam into the corner of one of the flowerbeds. More intense pain exploded through him, white and heavy. Then-

* * *

Lance could smell smoke and blood. That was the first thing that swam through his consciousness. There was also the scent of an Altean breeze and he could feel it on his skin. Did that mean he was outside? Shouldn't he be in his bed? He was very tired, after all.

Then the pain hit, just as the noise registered beyond the throbbing of his head. There was the crackling sound of fire. Ships overhead. Clanking footsteps. Other footsteps. Someone sobbing. A slicing sound. The sobbing stopped.

Fear took hold then and Lance had to force himself to stay as still as possible. He could feel the throbbing pain at his wrist and the sharper pain in his side. There was no way he could run so his best hope was that whoever this was, they wouldn't notice him.

Eventually, his hazy memory returned. Zarkon’s planet-wide declaration. The attack and invasion. A chasm opening up as whatever Zarkon was doing tore the planet apart. His family safe - hopefully. Alteans huddled against a building. Lance’s own confidence. Leading them into a fight they almost won.

Terrified by what might have happened while he was unconscious, Lance opened one eye. At first, he saw only the little boy. His eyes were closed and he hugged his toy tight to his chest. His lilac marks were smeared with dirt. It looked a lot like he was sleeping, if it weren't for all the blood.

Feeling sick, Lance quickly looked away, only to have to bite his lip to keep from making a noise. Salarn lay close by, his eyes wide and dull. They had been such beautiful eyes, brown with golden flecks. Now, they were just the colour of the dirt he had fallen in. His hand was stretched towards Lance, as if he had known Lance was still alive, as if he had been trying to protect him. Biting down harder, Lance tried his best not to let any tears fall, though he could still feel something slide across his cheek and down his temple.

“Sir,” said a voice, rather too close for Lance’s liking. It was gruff and low and Lance knew it was a Galra soldier. “We’re getting reports of pockets of resistance like this one across the planet.”

“We’ll crush these scum,” said another voice, this one somehow more cruel than the first. It was also accompanied by a set of legs moving into Lance's field of view. “Don’t worry about that, soldier.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll go to the nearest one.”

“At the capital.”

“Sir,” said a third voice, suddenly. It didn’t sound as gruff and horrid. Instead, it was rich and smooth and low, almost comforting as it continued speaking. “We should check these people are all dead before we move on. They could prove problematic later if they’re alive.”

“Look at them,” said the first voice. “None of them would be in a condition to hinder our operation.”

“No,” said the commanding officer. “But the soldier is right. We should make sure none of the scum can survive. Those _are_ our orders after all. So we will carry on, we will gain honour for our families. _You_ , soldier, can be as thorough as you so clearly wish to be.”

“Yes, sir,” said the nicer voice. “Vrepit sa.”

“Vrepit sa.”

Footsteps marched away, feet coming into Lance’s view before disappearing again. He held his breath, waiting, listening. If he could surprise the Galra soldier when he came to check on him, maybe he could fight his way past and onto a ship. Lance had to get to his family, even if the pain in his side suggested he would bleed out before he got very far.

Silence fell for a while. Lance let his open eye roam, searching for the person who was still around. Movement caught his attention and he saw the armoured soldier bent over Tarra. Guilt flooded Lance then. He’d gotten all these people killed: they could have hidden and been safe to slip away if he hadn’t encouraged them to fight. Did he even deserve to escape here? Would he get the chance to? The Galra had his sword out, held in front of him as if to ward off a possible attack.

The soldier turned and Lance closed his eye, holding his breath. Footsteps moved closer. There was silence, tense with possibilities. When nothing seemed to have happened, Lance opened his eye again. He nearly gasped when he saw that the soldier was bent over Salarn, head turned towards the dead Altean. Lance realised that this was his chance - he could attack the Galra soldier and get away. Yet, Lance hesitated, unsure. It was one thing to fight enemies who were actively trying to kill you and quite another to attack someone whose back was turned.

Before he could make a decision, the Galra soldier reached out to Salarn. Lance inhaled sharply, hoping he was being quiet enough to avoid notice. What was this soldier going to do to him? Did the Galra defile their enemies in some way - there were some cultures that did that, Lance knew. He had read about them once and felt ill for the rest of the day. His thoughts whirled, trying to remember which race had done that, unable to grasp the knowledge. After a tick, he had to stop as his stomach churned. And kept churning, his head injury getting the better of him.

Lance watched, grimacing through the pain, as the soldier placed two fingers over Salarn’s eyes. Then, gently, he closed them. For a moment, the soldier stayed where he was. When he straightened, Lance watched his head turn, still bowed. Lance had the strange notion that he was looking at where Salarn’s arm led. Almost too late, he remembered that his eye was open and he shut it, trying not to squeeze it too tight, trying not to breath, trying to make his expression slack and vacant.

There was a scuffing noise as the soldier moved. Lance’s heart was beating far too fast, the throbbing pains in his body matching it. He could feel the presence of someone close by and had to resist the urge to open his eyes to see what was happening. Something brushed his face, presumably the soldier's fingers. Before Lance had a chance to react, he felt the soldier trace the path the tear had fallen. It made Lance twitch involuntarily, his eyes squeezing shut.

“You're alive,” murmured the soldier, just loud enough for Lance to hear.

Knowing that he couldn't play dead any longer, Lance opened his eyes, startling the Galra soldier. He was on one knee beside Lance, his tall body folded up even as he wore metallic armour. His sword was still in his hand and he kept his grip on it. The helmet he wore covered most of his head, but black hair stuck out of the bottom of it, just long enough to be braided and tied off just below his shoulders. Glowing, yellow eyes stared down at Lance, wide and worried. A Galra mark ran from his right jaw towards his lips which were still parted from his words.

Since he looked so surprised, Lance tried to push himself upright as quickly as he could. That just made his head spin, the scene in front of him blurring. Salarn's body was close enough to touch and he couldn't help but let a whimper escape him as his wandering thoughts focussed on that. Nausea rolled over him and he gagged, the effort hurting his injured side. He used his right hand to press against the wound; it left him unable to do anything else, the pain in his wrist too much to push the soldier away.

Hands found their way to Lance's upper arms, steadying him. For a tick, he thought that the destruction and death had been a hallucination brought on from hitting his head, that Salarn was there to help him. Then his vision cleared and he found himself looking at the Galra soldier, his sword back in his scabbard. He was staring at Lance so intently that Lance didn't know what to do now.

“What-?” Lance began. His voice was hoarse from the smoke and he had to clear it, wincing at the pain and the way he felt light-headed. “What are you doing? Shouldn't you be killing me?”

That made the soldier grimace, his head turning from Lance and his grip loosening. “No, I- No. I won't let you die.”

“Like you didn't let the rest of my people die?” Lance shot back.

The soldier frowned. “I... I am sorry. I did not want to do this.”

“Yet, you still did it.”

“There was no way I could stop this, not on my own.”

“You could have tried,” Lance snapped. He took a breath to say something else and had to cough, the smoke affecting him again. With a wince, he had press harder against his wound again, sharper pain shooting through him.

“Those wounds need attended to,” the soldier said. “But there are no Alteans left in this sector.”

“There are healing pods in the hospital. Though, I expect those are destroyed,” Lance said, a little breathless.

The soldier grimaced. “Yes. It was one of the first targets in this area, to prevent you creating some sort of stronghold. Not that it would matter, in the long run – the planet is falling apart.”

Lance took a shaky breath. “So, you will not kill me, and there is no way to heal me, and you cannot leave me here without me dying anyway. What do you intend to do?”

“I saw one of your transports fly off,” the soldier explained. “If I can get you off this planet, I can get you patched up. Then I can figure out a way to get you to your people.”

That surprised Lance. He raised an eyebrow, taking in the determined set of the soldier's face. Despite what the Galra had done, Lance was sure this one meant what he said. Somehow, he had found one of the sympathetic Galra soldiers that he had predicted existed. Alliances did not just break overnight, not even with the loss that the Galra had had to endure and the loyalty they were entreated to honour.

“Will that not be dangerous for you?” Lance asked, wondering just how the soldier intended to do something that seemed so hopeless.

“I have people who support me, allies and friends,” the soldier assured him. “I can figure something out. I swear it to you.” He held out his hand and stared straight into Lance's eyes.

After hesitating for just a second, Lance peeled his hand away from his side. It was sticky with blood and he ignored it in order to grasp the soldier's arm. Having wanted to be a Paladin of Voltron at some point, he had studied other cultures - his thoughts were slowly sorting themselves out and he could remember that the Galra were not the ones to defile their fallen foes. They were an honourable race. This action was a way of promising something, made it a binding oath. This soldier would be focussed solely on saving Lance and delivering him to his family. Something about the Galra’s intense expression made Lance trust him, despite what the soldier's people had done to Lance's own. Still, Lance accepted the promise, hoping it was the right thing to do. “You have sworn,” he murmured.

“I better get you to a ship, then,” said the soldier, suddenly all business.

“Won't they notice me?” Lance asked.

“I'll destroy the sentry that came down on the ship with me,” the soldier told him. “No-one will notice when there's fighting and dangerous planet conditions. And no-one will check.”

Lance nodded. “Yes,” he said. “That will do.”

Nodding in return, the soldier used his grip on Lance's arm – he hadn't realised that they hadn't let go yet – to pull him upright, rising with him. Lance was grateful for the help, though he soon regretted accepting it. Now that he was upright, he could feel the stickiness of his wound, the pounding in his head, both sensations intensified. His vision blurred and the sensation of being spun around overtook him. Again, he gagged and, this time, he vomited, hanging from the Galra's arm. The soldier was quick to crowd close to Lance, keeping him upright.

“You must have a concussion,” he said to Lance, the frown evident in his voice. “And you have a wound to your abdomen. Is there anything else?”

“My wrist is broken,” Lance muttered, using the injured arm in question to wipe against his mouth, ignoring the twinge of pain. “Other than that, I'm fine. I can- I can follow you to your ship.” Though that may have been more lie than truth.

“I will carry you,” the soldier decided.

“What?”

“Alteans can camouflage themselves,” continued the soldier. “Can you disguise yourself as Galra? I can tell my commanding officers that you are an injured friend who passed out after dispatching your foe.”

In response, Lance shook his head and instantly regretted it. The nausea swelled within him once more. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Salarn and Tarra, their eyes closed in their final sleep. He had to shut his own, squeezing them as his head spun once again. “I cannot do that in this condition. It will only make the wounds worse.”

“Then we'll just have to hope no-one will stop us.” The Galra then paused for a moment. Lance swayed on his feet, wishing he could sit down. “Will you be able to shoot?”

Lance snorted. “What do you take me for?” he demanded. “Of course I can.”

“Good.”

With no other warning, Lance was suddenly swept off his feet. A strong arm wrapped around his waist while another hooked under his knees so that the Galra was cradling Lance to his chest. It was so sudden that Lance gasped, eyes wide as he stared at the soldier. The soldier stared back. There was something surprised about his expression, like he hadn't expected to be so close to Lance when he picked him up. Perhaps he was startled by the arms Lance had instinctively thrown around him. Somehow, even after everything he had been through, Lance felt safe.

“Well?” he murmured, glancing away from the soldier. “We should go.”

“Right.” The Galra shifted. “Grab my blaster, Altean.”

Raising an eyebrow, Lance glanced down at where it was holstered. “Are you not scared that I will turn on you, Galra?” he asked.

“Of course not,” the soldier immediately replied, his faith in Lance surprising the Altean. He could nothing but pull the blaster free with his good hand, placing it on his stomach so that he was ready to use it, hand curled around the butt. “Also,” he added, “my name is Yorak.”

“Yorak?” Lance repeated. “That is a horrible name. Makes me think of yelmors.”

The soldier – Yorak – ostensibly rolling his eyes. “Yes, I have not heard that comment before,” he said, dryly. “And what is your name?”

“Allance,” he replied. “Though you may call me Lance.”

“Huh. Allance,” said Yorak slowly, as if he was testing the name out. “That's quite pretty.”

If Lance wasn't in the middle of bleeding out, he would have blushed. As it was, he ducked his head, wincing at all his pains. “As much as that is a nice sentiment, may we please leave? I do not think that I will be able to stay conscious for much longer.”

Yorak nodded and took off, his long legs carrying them across double the distance Lance would have covered in the same time. The movement jostled Lance and he grimaced, biting at his lip to keep from crying out at the pain. After a while, the tears he had kept a bay – for his friends, for his fellow Alteans, for his wounds, for himself – began to fall. To hide them, he turned his head to bury his face in Yorak's shoulder. Yorak didn't question it, merely shifted the arm around Lance’s waist so that his large hand was splayed across Lance's back. It was almost like a hug and Lance had to take a shuddering breath, hoping that they would reach a ship without notice.

**Author's Note:**

> I mentioned 'lightbees' - I just didn't want Lance to be thinking of a trail of breadcrumbs. So I invented an insect - they can be corralled into hovering in a straight line. But they also sting - you know an Altean's been stung because their marks light up with a really intense light. ... Not that anyone will ever see that happen again, since they'll be wiped out with the destruction of Altea...
> 
> My vague ideas for this is:  
> Krolia is around and supports Keith's/Yorak's decision.  
> Lance really doesn't like the name Yorak so he starts calling him Keith instead (because if I have to call Keith 'Yorak', I will just scream at myself, cause I know I'll get confused).  
> Keith hides him in his ship while Lance heals until he can camouflage himself enough.  
> Keith can't find out where Lance's family is at first and, after a while, Lance suggests they look for the Lions. Which Keith is all for so they go off to become Paladins. ;)  
> Pidge would be Olkarion and Hunk Balmeran and... I don't know what Shiro would be. I'd like him to still be from Earth... But... timelines. Since Shiro might be around, Allura might be piloting the Blue Lion - but that's only if they find Allura. I haven't decided yet.  
> Lance's mum basically takes charge of any Alteans left alive and they settle on a planet they call New Altea. Basically, Lance kind of becomes a prince.


End file.
